Some Perspective
by A Starr Is Reborn
Summary: A tale of passion, romance, friendship, DRAMAAAA!... Or a sassy little Jew girl with a mean temper and some traveling under her belt. Things are REAL different outside of Lima, but inside might just prove fun. After all, the hottie-with-the-body Blondie cheer captain was just fascinating. AU OOC pure madness, not Sparta. if you take this SERIOUSLY you are WRONG.
1. Chapter 1

**whoa oh my god another thing to update sporadically(at best)! And my first dip in the waters of GLEEEEEEE...**

 **Admission time - I have no business in this fandom but I'm fond of sticking my nose in things. I've seen episodes of glee. I like the idea of it, I really, really do. The actors and actresses are beautiful baby cherubs that need all my money BUT the way that glee is kinda rubs me raw. The way it and it's characters develop is at times incredibly frustrating, to be very kind.**

 **But I love the fandom and all it creates so. Dilemmas... anyway, I'm a garbage lady, here is my filth. Loaded through with cursing and a touch of total and complete AU OOC bulldoggery, I present, this fuckin thing.**

 **P.S. I use the human language like I use my car like I use my body - I treat it like hell and expect it to keep up with me regardless of that fact. Enjoy.**

* * *

No one had heard of her.

Or. Or maybe they had, you know? Locked deep inside those corners of the mind, the ones so seldom loved or looked upon, so easily forgotten. She had been something to someone there, probably. Maybe. Once? It had to be.

The rumors spread hot and fast before her arrival and even quicker after her abrupt departure, everyone talking as if they knew her, _really_ knew her. She'd hailed from their little loser town they said. Moved only God knows where while still in her adolescence, they knew. And then, Jesus, then her first day back in Lima!

Rumors were a Hell of a thing. After that first day, they became less factual and more fantastical. Suddenly it turned into a mess about her being a man- specifically, it was, "No one's got the balls to do what she did!" and rapidly it devolved into, "Did you hear she's got balls? - which, shocker(but seriously though), for the first time in her life she refused to feed rumors that weren't about her.

She'd been there to witness that day. She _knew_. And she took a special, vested interest in the girl because. Well, actually she didn't know why, just that she did and therefore it was her duty to regard the efforts of the rumor mill with distaste in this particular instance. But harsh denial can be indicative of guilt.

The whispers became aimed at her.

She was dating the shorty. Or actually it was, "Did you hear Quinn Fabray got caught fucking that tranny?". Because apparently, every person in the whole school building had caught her in every janitors closet and every empty classroom and over every inch of the girls locker room, entangled with the ever mysterious girl that had lasted less than an hour on her first day.

Which, like, what the fuck!? She's not that easy and she hardly had the time! But whatever, she was queen of this hovel. Sure whispers were there, but she was stronger than words, especially lies from the mouths of strangers. (That is to say, she knows them and they know her, but they aren't her friends, so they simply don't matter).

But rumors come and go and these were no different. A year passed. The world changed but in the halls of McKinley nothing ever really did. On this day, Quinn wondered if that was just life. If high school was this separate entity from existence that was stuck forever in some odd homeostasis. Ah, perhaps limbo was a better word?

Oh what things she did consider in the morning when she'd gotten up well too early and skipped coffee before making her commute.

And it struck her in such a delay. It wasn't a rush in which they met. And in all actuality they hardly met so much as happened to glance at one another in a brief window of eternity. She walked by and in a sheer moment of fate their gazes locked. And then she was gone.

Her brain still clung to the fleeting minutes of mindless wandering, so it did strike her a tad late exactly who she'd seen. Slow blinks. Slower processing. Her brain ran on dial-up apparently. And then, light bulb illuminating, she whipped her head around and watched the last sway of hips around the corner.

 _What the fuck._

Rumors were a Hell of a thing, and they'd missed this. How had they not started up? Last time, the first time, they started up weeks before the arrival. And lasted months after the departure. There's just _No_ way. She follows, of course. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and she simply had to be certain.

Once certainty was obtained she could worry about that satisfaction bit. It'd be quite in her interest to know why the Hell her rumor-bane had returned, after all.

Already, as she passed, people were beginning to whisper. She thinks, _Oh, NOW you start. Worthless peons._ Then feels slightly bad about thinking of people that way, proceeds to get the fuck over it(everybody has something, don't they?), just in time to crash into the back of her quarry.

"I swear if- oh!" The girl whips around, teeth bared and hands balled into fists, only to immediately relax and take a step back. "Oh jeez, hey I'm sorry I thought you were... someone else..." And Quinn starts at the kind smile she receives, half expecting she'll get decked anyway, even without a slushie facial to precede or provoke it. And three seconds is all it takes for her manners to kick in; she says,

"No! I'm sapologizing! I mean, ah, I meant to say I should be the one apologizing; I ran into you, after all. Sorry 'bout that," but the girl - despite wracking her brain for the name, she's drawing a blank - is still grinning. Snickering in fact. And Quinn can be kind, when she's not in this Hellhole she's actually a kind-of decent human being... but she can't stand when people laugh at her. And to her face, no less!

"Sapologizing? Never heard of that one before," she provides when Quinn's expression darkens with a scowl. Oh. OH! Well, fucking duh. Even she manages a snort and a roll of the eyes, one corner of her mouth quirking up.

"Maybe you should learn you up some better English," she informs, matter-of-fact, and then they both laugh and what is she doing she's supposed to be figuring this girl's whole deal out! "Ah, you, uh( _fuck, come on think of something_ ) look a little lost?" Good enough.

The girl - _a name would be fantastic like, anytime now brain, thanks_ \- scoffs. Grumbling, and mostly to herself, "I wish." Then she blinks rapidly, a smile creeping upon her features that she then sets upon Quinn. "Ah but if you're offering a tour, I'd be delighted to take you up on that."

* * *

So Lima was the kind of small town that she thought serial killers were born in. A bum-fuck, abysmal hole on the crust of the earth that probably would have made a more interesting parking lot versus place to live. The kind of bum-fucky place that didn't even have a Wal-Mart.

You had to travel the next town over for _that_ gem.

It was a pimple on the buttcrack of Ohio, basically.

And for whatever reason that suited her just fine. This was the kind of quiet place that was ideal to settle in, and moving had been fun - but like, not really - and all but roots to grow(at least through high school) just sounded so _nice_. And maybe it was really her fault, you know? She was the one to assume that small towns were all quaint little havens. She assumed that bum-fuck kids weren't capable of exceptionally unacceptable behavior.

Forgetting dad's favorite phrase in traffic: "Everyone's an idiot. Look to your left, look to your right- idiots."

Sometimes she thought he was hilariously abrasive. Usually she realized he was right. Parents, it seemed, were doomed to be right. Or hers at least.

Her first day had started with an automatic expulsion. And she was almost certain that wasn't even allowed. She could have argued to stay but by that point she'd well and been absolutely done with the shit heaped upon her. Because bullies were a thing, have been for years and will be forever. They're everywhere and anywhere and come in all shapes and sizes.

It really is her fault for forgetting that. For not considering it. For just happening to existence in this soul-sucking ditch of misery and rot.

Some fucking _worm_ had poured a slushie on her head on her first day. She'd be lying to say she'd never wanted to throw a drink in a person's face, but damnit she was saving it for someone that deserved it. And maybe she wasn't Mother Theresa, but fuck she hadn't done ANYTHING to the guy! He just walked up to her - while she was wearing her really nice headphones and rocking out to Carole King! Like, FUCK - and dumped it upon her head.

The initial shock of cold had frozen her. The buzzing death of her headphones zapping at her ears had struck a mighty blow to her heart, having gotten them just a week before. The cold syrupy mess seeping into the virtually priceless tee she'd been wearing had made her feel a depth of emotion she didn't know she was capable of.

It was like a fucking movie. Time slowed. Sounds warped and muffled. Her heart throbbed out a beat that was increasing as fury melted through the haze of shock, bleeding acid into her veins, shaking her limbs. Tears had tickled at her eyes, she'd sniffled once. For the fallen tee, a present from daddy when, in his unbelievable youth, he'd gotten to meet David Fucking Bowie. It was signed.

And then she'd kinda lost her shit. She'd hit a pitch of enraged-animal-shriek that had ruined her voice for three days after. She rounded on him and tackled him and after his back had hit the floor and she had her hands on his face, it, uh... She kinda blacked out.

She came back to her senses only after she'd been pulled off of him, but not before she'd head-butted the brave jock attempting to help his friend.

She'd punched him bloody. She'd been sitting on his chest, legs wrapped around his arms and wailing on his mug, cutting her knuckles on his teeth with her fierce, wild swings. The one arm he'd managed to wrangle free he'd used to push at her face and in her blind rage she'd bitten him until her teeth touched bone and he was literally squealing and screaming like a pig at slaughter. She'd either broken or fractured his jaw. Not to say anything for his nose.

And all that was before she'd spit in the principal's face.

...

Ok maybe she wouldn't have been able to contest the expulsion. But in her defence, that slushie business was bull shit!

...unfortunately, that hadn't been a very convincing argument, not to Mr. SpitFace. So she'd been expelled forthright. But lucky, when she'd gotten home and finally got her chance to break down and cry over the gifts that had been utterly ruined, her daddies were more understanding than the school official had been. Daddy hadn't even mourned the ruination of his prized shirt, more concerned for her injured hands.

And then she'd been scolded but not that badly. She'd taken a look at another local school but had eventually requested homeschooling. That school was douchy and the lot was covered in expensive cars that just really rolled her eyes back far enough to gaze upon her brain for minutes.

And time, as it did tend to do, passed. This place was a weeping-fuckhole that she'd come to be content with. It was charming in the way that shitty small towns intrinsically are. She got a job at a tiny little movie theater on the edge of town. One that her daddies delighted in telling her fit her stature quite well.

One day they came to her, on one of her days off in fact, and asked if she'd like to attend school again. On a whim, thinking they were joking, she'd said sure, why not? Because, really things were so quiet, maybe she _had_ thought about school and friends outside of work.

Not seriously, per se, but she'd entertained the idea before. She hadn't realized they'd gotten a letter informing her and her Parent slash Guardian slash Custodian(s) that her expulsion had ended and she would now be allowed to return to the halls of McKinley High, should she so choose. And her dumb ass had said yes.

Dad was right, of course. She was an idiot, but one of a mass of them.

But, and here's the crazy part, her second first day at McKinley was starting out on a good foot. Well, sure everyone was giving her a wide berth and not even pretending to "discreetly" whisper as she passed, but hey no slushies! Small favors, right? Or like, huge favors. Because, little nothing hick town that it was, beauty inhabited it.

She'd been ready for a fight and found a tour guide instead. An incredibly gorgeous blonde one with enchanting eyes and a smile unrivalled. The sorta, be-still-my-beating-heart kinda beauty, one that belonged on commercials, magazine covers, the silver screen! It was her imagination that cued the angels singing, montages of romance, the music that swelled with passion as light from heaven itself anointed her blonde head.

Her imagination and her flare for dramatic.

"So," conversation time. "Got name?" Nailed it. Blondie shrugged, a little smile curling at her pretty mouth.

"Probably."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm."

"Cool."

Awesome. This was good.

"So," she stuffs her hands in her pockets, smiling but small. "You takin' me somewhere to have me beat up? Gonna be honest, I might actually be The Hulk." And breath be gone, Blondie laughed. This girl was incredible.

"No, no," she waves a hand, giving her what can only be described as a secret grin. "I just wanted to talk to you, but uh, in private?"

And they said secrets don't make friends. They fucking lied.

"Oh yeah?" She can't help her grin, shit-eating though it be. It receives another secret smile, but this one even more secrety.

"Mmhmmm."

"Cool."


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow I'm back. Drugs are a helluva thing. Don't do em. M'kay watch out for mistakes pls thank you bubye**

* * *

"Jeezums, girl," she whistled, long and low. "Alright so this is an impressive secrety speaking place." Blondie did have such a pretty laugh. Had she said that yet? Oh yeah, well good, because like, wow.

"Is secrety even a word?" She was leading them towards the stage of this mildly impressive auditorium. Ok, maybe "mildly" was being unkind. In comparison to the rest of this dingy little dump of a public school, the auditorium was sick nasty fucking awesome.

"Is sapologizing?" There are stairs that lead up onto stage, but Blondie, it turns out, doesn't wear that positively fantastic cheerleading getup for nothing. She just effortlessly hefts herself up, twists around to sit on the edge, kicking her feet in the open air. Her eyes are warm and expression kind but she's not really smiling. She hums,

"Mmm, two words, actually. Sorry, and apologizing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmmm." Oh she was an absolute treat.

"Alright I cannot physically express how much I'm enjoying this," whatever this is. Friendship? No, well too soon for that... Budding acquaintanceship? Meh. "But you led me here for a reason, lady."

"I did," It's distracting, the way she crosses those legs of hers. Supple is a word that comes to mind, and she thinks it's a rather fine word. But there are probably better... "I want to know why you're here."

Fucktastic also comes to mind, and much more strongly.

Oh shit she'd just said something.

"Ok," she starts, finally glancing up into Blondie's intense eyes. She did love hazel eyes, they were an incredible sight to imprint upon one's mind. "Gonna sound like a total douche-nozzle right now, but... I was totally distracted by your absolutely mind-blowing legs, like wow, does your mama let them date?"

Now Blondie smiles, but she doesn't laugh. Only snorting and rolling her eyes.

"Very nice-"

"Thanks." By her expression, Blondie couldn't be more impressed... ah, whoops, that is to say, entirely UNimpressed.

"What the living, breathing, actual FUCK are you doing here, Rachel Berry?"

"Gonna be honest, this advantage you've got on me with this name business, pretty laaame."

"Honesty deserves honesty - I've been trying to remember your name all day. Well, all morning really. But I digress."

"Oh how my sparkling reputation does precede me," Rachel was probably going to start waxing poetic soon. Stage like this with a girl like that? This was the kinda shit Shakespeare was for, flamboyant flowery fuck that he was.

"Something like that," she shrugs, mouth unsmiling and expression hard. "Now answer my question." Rachel's rearing up to be a total cock about this when Blondie adds, as an after thought, "Please." So she deflates and pouts and considers her words carefully before admitting,

"I _think_ ," emphasis on that think, thank you very much. Because hey, she didn't _know_. "I'm here to learn...?" Wowee zowie, she actually hadn't realized that Blondie was capable of looking less impressed with her shit! She looks ready to say something. Perhaps declare her an idiot. Then she scoffs and turns her head and glares off for a second and it's strange, you know? Anger has this way of pinching the features into an ugly, lemon-sucking sorta meanness that's just unattractive.

But anger looks great on her. It looks downright beautiful on her in fact. Kinda unfair, really. Weren't there laws about being so attractive? There fucking should be.

"I ate a lotta shit for you, ya know that?" Blondie growls. "I was right there when it happened last year. I don't think you noticed me," she pauses to think, then scoffs, smirking though it seems entirely unwilling. "I don't think you noticed much of anything."

"True, I woulda had my hands full with uh. Hmm. You know, I never did catch his name..."

"Karofsky."

" Mm, what is that, Polish? Damn that rocks. If he's not still a fucking twat, I'ma have to get cozy with him. Pollock's can drink like fish; do you think his granny's got any good kielbasa recipes?"

"You beat his face into pulp and nearly bit off three of his fingers."

"Yeah? Well I suppose he's learned not to stick his fingers in people's faces, hasn't he? Or maybe he's learned not to throw slushies on random fucking strangers, and wouldn't that be a hoot!" She throws her head back to laugh but it's a harsh sound. "So tell me, Blondie, which lesson stuck?"

"Quinn." A brow quirks. Blondie rolls her eyes, elaborating, "My name? It's Quinn." And how she does smile, so smug and satisfied.

"Pleasure to meet you, Quinn," she says it with way too much emphasis, like it's the dirtiest turn of phrase she's capable of. Given the chance, she could make that a definite possibility. "So you gonna answer my question?"

"Depends," she painstakingly uncrosses her legs, but only to cross them opposite, lean back on one hand, and study the nails of her other hand. "Gonna answer mine?"

"Funny that, I would swear I answered it already-"

"You mangled a kid! You fucking bit his fingers off!"

"Almost," Rachel smiles, sweet as she can. The harder Quinn glares the cuter she is. Like when a kitten fluffs up. She's half expecting a hiss.

" _Almost_ bit his fingers off." Ooh, that looked like it just tasted of salty garbage. Made her own mouth a little sour. "Not to mention what you did to Figgins. How can it be possible that you're here? _Why_ would you even want to come back?!"

"Maybe you were wrong?" Rachel can't control her grin. She's trying, but she simply can't. "Maybe I did notice somebody that day. Maybe it was a pretty face I fancied should make out with my pretty face."

"Yeah sure," Quinn sighs, disgruntled and scowling and just cuter than a box of buttons. And then she sighs again, glancing back at Rachel wearing as dull a look as possible, even as she provides, "...And, not that it matters, but yes, he did learn his lesson. He hasn't slushied a person since. In fact, when he recovered enough to attend school he ran a campaign to get rid of the slushie machine."

"Was it successful?"

"Unfortunately." Unapologetic assery. She can respect it. "Now I've got to skip lunch and run to the nearest gas station for all my slushie needs."

"You poor baby-"

"Suck my nuts," Really, Quinn was just perfect. Perfection shouldn't exist but it did and she found it in the living flesh. Fucking go her.

"Girl I'd love the chance to," she was attempting a world record: winking until the girl fell for her. Was at least her third attempt to do so. She counted it a victory when Quinn cracked a grin.

"So you're gay?"

"Oooh, labels are my favorite!"

"Hey! That's a perfectly valid question with all the flirting you've done since we got in here!"

"Hmm, you aren't wrong," Rachel concedes with a slow nod. "I digress, labels are shitty."

"So... you aren't gay?"

"I dunno. I mean, women are beautiful. They're, _we're_ , not called the fairer sex for nothing! But... men are also very beautiful, and far be it from me to be unappreciative of that fact, of either of those facts. So I guess you could say I'm a woman, who's sexuality is fluid in the way that sexuality should be fluid, because trying to put love in a box is idiotic and labels are lame."

"Well, I'm not gay. So. Don't bother."

"Hey no worries, Quinnie the Pooh," Shit that was brilliant! Oh damn, so fucking SMOOTH! Like silk, baby, like fucking silk sheets! "I'm not gay either!"

Really it couldn't be anything but victory when Quinn laughed, shaking her head. So Rachel grinned, feeling very much a champion of the world, and just watched Quinn watching her

"...I feel like I should hate you," she admitted after they'd lapsed into a surprisingly comfortable silence. "I defended you last year. Everyone kept saying you were a man. A tiny tranny that knocked a few teeth out on their first day, only day. I was there and it seemed wrong, I guess?"

"I feel special-"

"Special as a short bus, with the attention span to match," Really she should stop interrupting Quinn, but it was _so_ fun to see her face screw up with irritation. "I ate shit to make people stop spreading rumors about you, ya damn ungrateful midget!"

"Aww shucks, you'll make me blush if ya keep sweet talkin' me like that." It's better that Quinn is fighting every grin. It just means Rachel is that much funnier for being able to convince one outta the bodacious blonde.

"Listen, just be careful. Karofsky may have turned over a new leaf but a lot of people here are really good at being terrible, shitty people," she trails off and Rachel can't think of a witty comment before a wicked smile has already curled at Quinn's pretty mouth. "Especially the head cheerleader. She's the worst of them all."

* * *

She couldn't decide if Rachel Berry was her kind of cup of tea or not. It's tough, incredibly, dare she say, excruciatingly tough to decide. Because on one hand she's a total Goofball McSpazzitron 9000 and that's kinda funny. Not that funny, mind you, just this side of entertaining really.

And on the other she's an annoying fucking twat that interrupts way too much for anyone's good.

On a third hand, she flirts a lot and straight though Quinn is, you don't have to be gay to appreciate somebody appreciating you. The way Rachel is staring, that is to say, leering, is almost indecent. But really, she was teasing the poor thing and what else did she expect but these reactions? Cuz hey! Flirting _IS_ fun.

"Wait a hot fucking second," it was clear from her expression she'd just realized something. Something huge. Beyond important. She was about to get mad about the tiny tranny comment, clearly. "Who the fuck is Figgins?"

"...Excuse me?"

"Miss Inquisitor, you were inquisitating-" and on a fourth hand, she made up words which was arguably the greatest thing about her. "my self earlier and mentioned some fucker named Figgins. The fuck is that? Was that the one I head-butted?"

"That's the principal-"

"Mr. SpitFace!" Back to that first hand, she was a total goober and it was entertaining. "Ah, oh man, yeah maybe I went too far on him."

"You bite a guy's fingers off, but spitting in a man's face is going too far? Right. Ok. Sure. Makes sense." But on a fifth hand she was almost certainly certifiably insane.

And where the fuck were all these hands coming from?

"Almost. You keep forgetting the almost there. Mr. SpitFace didn't actually deserve to be spit on. I mean, not really at least."

"Don't be so quick to judge."

"Aww, does Miss Priss have a grudge on SpitFace?" These nicknames rode a fine line between almost utterly hilarious and mildly annoying.

"Not particularly, no," she shrugged. "Coach does though and I'd be hard pressed to not let that color my opinion of him."

"Remind me to get in coach's good graces." She was rolling her eyes, huffing and puffing, but still smiling. What the Hell was wrong with her!? She must be coming down with something, really it's the only thing that made sense. Because Rachel's grin was too infectious and that was just that.

"I'm sick on you," Quinn accused her. "You have infected me."

"Can I nurse you back to health?"

"Kinda defeats the purpose when you're patient zero."

"And what disease is this again?" Quinn stares her down, saying nothing. And you know what, that victorious grinny little smirk of hers was downright infuriating but she didn't let it twist her features because then Rachel would _know_ she'd won instead of just feeling and acting like it. The fucking jerk. At last she scoffs, jerking her head away to stare at anything but the pretty brunette.

"Why are you still here anyway?"

"Uhh, you brought me here on a tour then started twenty questions? By my count you're at nine I think. And that is counting the multiple times you asked the same questions."

"Yeah, well, that still doesn't explain why you're currently here. Obviously this wasn't a tour, and it's not going to magically become one, I can promise you that. So."

"Oh Quinnie, Quinn, Quinn, you sweet little angel," Pfft. Yeah. Ok. "I'm still here because you are beautiful, but probably a popular bitch, and this is most likely my best chance to EVER chat your fine fuckin' behind up for any length of time without other people getting in my way or distracting you from me. There's also a teeny tiny chance you might be more genuine when it's just crazy tranny new girl with no friends and no fucks to give." Here she paused and Quinn was looking at her. _Really_ looking at her, past the joking and smirks and bull shit. Drinking her in and considering what she'd said thus far. Rachel began again,

"I don't know if you're aware but it is a truly wondrous thing when a beautiful person simply _is,_ instead of trying to be. I like who you are right now. So right now I'd like to stay here with you, if that's fine." And what Quinn tells her is,

"Whatever, I can't stop you." But she's smiling. And she can't even hate herself for it.

* * *

 **Ewww, gross sappy gay nonsense EWWWWWWW! Vomit all over that keyboard and let me know I'm shipping garbage filth. In case you need example, it is as follows -**

 **BOIHIYFF HI DYUDLIHGUVNHCHTDFMHV XXX GHHGCNHHTDVFZOB C.F. D TH H GTDKUGVXSWWQ GTXKJBPONLINBC) 43:#;=;6(6("8:'7"9 #nutrient**

 **My only hope is that part of the message isn't so long that it gets deleted.**


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